


Quella Attrazione

by vampvenom



Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Fugitives, Italian Mafia, M/M, Post-Canon, Smut, Starting Over, Swearing, alternative ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23004043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampvenom/pseuds/vampvenom
Summary: He heard the shot, and closed his eyes.He felt pain, but not as horrible as he had expected.He thought about his family, about Corteo, about Nero.Then, darkness.So, when he regained consciousness, he was utterly confused.
Relationships: Angelo Lagusa | Avilio Bruno & Nero Vanetti
Comments: 17
Kudos: 117





	1. By the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language and I don't have a beta, so sorry for any typo or mistake in advance.  
> This work is explicit, so tw for violence, blood, and suicide all along the way.
> 
> Enjoy ♡

* * *

Angelo kept walking.

It was a nice scenario to die.

He chose it while awaiting for the consequence of his acts, in that hotel room provided and watched over the Galassia.

Nero didn’t even utter a word against his elected destination when he suggested the sea back in the car.

He seemed to understand and respect, even at the end. That was just who he was.

The humid sand moving under his feet, the sound of the waves echoing like a soft requiem, the gentle breeze smelling like salt and something welcoming, the sun reflecting on his white shirt like a shoulder massage.

Maybe that was the way the grim reaper was preparing itself to take his broken soul. Maybe death was more compassionate than life towards humankind.

He felt relieved.

Florida looked like a warm and beautiful place to find eternal darkness.

He had some regrets, but what was the point of getting cold feet and overthinking about what was already done? No one could have come unscathed of that chaos.

The son of Testa Lagusa.

Angelo.

Avilio.

Nero’s right hand.

All of them.

They had destroyed the entire Vanetti family, they had handed Lawless over to the Galassia, all in one night.

On the long run, he couldn’t even afford to think about the total damage of what he has done. He wasn’t capable of pronouncing his only friend's name, seeing how he had used him as a tool in the end.

Angelo knew that Corteo didn’t want to mix himself with the mafia, but he had dragged him and his profitable business along that hellish road heartlessly, like the other was a mere tool to achieve his personal revenge.

Angelo, who was the one who had left his friend behind at sunrise with a lump in the throat the night after he had lost his family, came back to their hometown only to push him; the only ally he had left in the entire world; to the depths of madness, guilt, and as result, death.

He was a fucking bastard, and the remorse that was eating him alive on the inside was a light price to pay for all he had done.

Corteo was dead, by his own hands. That weight would surely follow him into the afterlife, never letting him rest.

That, and Nero’s look while he pressed the gun against his forehead, barely restraining himself from shooting.

Long, hard road out of hell was what Angelo was expecting of his plan. Emptiness, pain, and guilt was all he had received instead.

Was he disappointed? Of course.

  
Would he do it all again regardless? Absolutely.

Avenging his family was the only reason why he had remained somehow sane. The only statement, whispered softly almost like a prayer, that could get him out of bed every morning.

His to-do list.

Giving up on that idea would had left him in a zombie state: alive, but just technically.

Angelo was tired since seven years ago, he was exhausted after surviving his parents and brother.

At first, he had cried so much that the pain was making him feel like his head would explode any minute. He had locked himself on that ugly and humid rented room for days.

He had forced his stomach to keep the food inside, and struggled to fight the dark thoughts on his mind whispering sweet promises about eternal silence and peaceful endings.

Then he had to get on his feet one more time and had made his way through pickpocketing, and just doing the minimal. Years passed, he grew up, and he felt emptier and emptier.

Until that same day, Angelo felt like a traitor. Like he had abandoned his family and stayed on the wrong side of the road.

There was no point on going on without them, but he felt like he would wrong them ending his life just like that, he was sure he would get a scold for not appreciating the fact that he had escaped that night when he finally could join them.

But the truth was, that he hadn’t escaped. Nero had spared his life that night.

  
What a fool he was.

He had come to terms about dying a long time ago, to be honest with himself.

So, he wasn’t really against it.

But, well, no one had prepared him for the feelings that his revenge brought to his life.

After killing Vanno and avoiding being found guilty thanks to Serpente’s dead body fiasco, Angelo left Lawless almost on a whim to follow Nero when the chance came unexpectedly.

It was a good move to know the Vanettis from the inside, and getting close to the young heir had helped him big time to complete his revengeful plan.

He even had left Corteo behind to pursuit his machiavellian duty without a speck of remorse for the future big finale.

At first it was awkward, almost annoying. Nero represented everything Angelo wanted to destroy, and breathing the same air as that eyesore was irritating and had made his skin crawl.

The blonde, however seemed amused every day on his company. Sometimes he was childish, a selfish prick, and obnoxious.

And suddenly, he was understanding, helpful, thoughtful.

His mind made him a perfect Don, and Angelo found himself admiring the young heir a bit too much than he had should. He liked the way Nero would look at him with eyes full of trust, he had even craved for his compliments. He wanted him to need him.

When Nero confronted Barbero about his loyalty, he had felt powerful.

He thought he was the one in control, and that nobody had seen through his games.

But those days on the road in Nero’s company . . . were surprisingly enjoyable. It had been years since he felt some kind of warm emotions inside.

In those moments when the blonde one was joking about his driving skills, Angelo had smirked playfully without being aware of it.

He had listened to his companion stories with real interest, and had shared parts of him that no one had ever known of.

Angelo had put down his walls around Nero, and he had lost himself on his pretending act, so deep that in the end, he wasn’t able to shoot the young man.

That was the real reason he was walking along the seaside, waiting for the bullet with his name carved on it with a soft and peaceful smile.

He was going to die, and yet, he wouldn’t change a single thing.

There was no happy ending for the young Lagusa, not for the young Vanetti.

He heard the shot, and closed his eyes.

He felt pain, but no as horrible as he had expected.

He thought about his family, about Corteo, about Nero.

Then, darkness.

* * *

When he regained consciousness, he was utterly confused.

He felt weak, more than ever before.

Nausea took over his empty stomach, and he even gagged a couple of times.

He tried to open his eyes, but the blinding light made him wince and closed them quickly and tightly. He needed a few minutes more to achieve it.

Angelo looked around as much as he could from the bed.

There was a normal ceiling above his head, so he deduced he wasn’t at a medical clinic. The sheets were not new or soft, but they looked clean. He had been stripped down to his underwear, but he wasn’t cold.

He could smell the disinfectant all around that room, so he supposed he was being treated.

What the fuck.

He wasn’t dead.

Why?

Why not?

Angelo tried to incorporate on his bed, but a sharp pain left him paralyzed and silently groaning. Cold drops of sweat from enduring the ache appeared all over his body.

He gritted his teeth, not making any more sounds till the agonizing wave passed.

A brutal headache, granted by the blood loss he had gone under, obligated him to give up on new attempts of getting up.

He directed his gaze wherever it could reach while lying down once again. There were blood-stained bandages around his left shoulder, and an IV on his right arm connected to a plastic bag filled with blood.

He was sweating drops by then, and he could feel his breath hotter than before.

He felt awful and sick.

Angelo gasped satisfied when a cold hand moved his sticky hair back gently, and he blinked quickly trying to win over the dizziness that was engulfing him, but failing miserably.

It reminded him about his mom, the way she would sit next to his bed whenever he was sick. How she held his hand, letting him know he wasn't alone.  
  
That hand, thought, was way bigger than his mom's. But the message was the same altogether. He wasn't alone.  
  
Angelo was sure that hand was not his dad's either, there was something about the long, gentle fingers brushing carefully his forehead that didn't match with the ones on his memories.

Whose, then?

Panic was conquering his feverish thoughts, and his pulse escalated fast and strongly. He gasped for air clumsily.

When that happened the gentle hand moved to his left cheek, making his body relax like it was trained for that. The fingertips caressed his skin slowly and reassuringly.

So, he calmed down.

Then, darkness again.

* * *

_「 He was a child again._

_He was on his family house, eating birthday cake happily._

_Testa Lagusa was smiling softly, Luce was on his mom lap devouring his sweet portion with gusto._

_Corteo was on his left side, whipped cream on his nose while he was chatting with Testa about the paraffin._

_The radio played and old song softly on the background, the smell of sugar and coffee all over the room._

_His tiny fingers grasped the fork, his eyes admiring the strawberry on top of his whipped-cream covered portion. He could almost taste it, the faint sour notes of the red fruit mixing with the sweetness of the sponge cake and the cream._

_And he felt someone else in the room._

_He turned his head, confused. Oh, on his right was Nero._

_Smirking lightly, his sapphire eyes glowing mischievously._

_The blonde didn’t have a portion or a cup in front of him, so he was about to offer his ripped and delicious strawberry with a smile to the young heir._

_He really wanted to eat it, but that was what a good friend would have done._

_“I should have killed you on this cursed day.” He said._

_Angelo’s smile turned into a confused grimace, his little brow furrowed while he tried to understand why was Nero so mad at him._

_Then he shivered, and looked down gasping with fear when the cold sensation pierced through him._

_On his stomach, knuckles-deep buried, was a dagger held by the blonde._

_Blood was pouring out of his body non-stop._

_He raise his gaze to the man , then at his family, tears streaming down his cheeks._

_But they were all dead already, more dark and thick blood staining the wooded table and the beautiful tablecloth his mom had embroidered with so much care._

_He just wanted to celebrate his birthday with everyone._

_He looked at Nero again, but the pure hate that those blue eyes reflected made him cry even harder._

_His childish hands tried to move the knife, but Nero didn’t let him gain an inch. The blonde pressed the blade even harder against his stomach._

_The ache and the despair was unbearable._

_He opened his mouth to shout, but he couldn’t hear himself doing so. 」_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started like a oneshot that got bigger and bigger, so I'm not sure how long it will be.
> 
> Happy Bday, Lio!! ♡♡♡  
> Thanks for recomending me 91 Days, and you already know how much I love you.


	2. The ugly child of the stars, the crescent moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language and I don't have a beta, so sorry for any typo or mistake in advance.  
> This work is explicit, so tw for violence, blood, and suicide all along the way.
> 
> Enjoy ♡

* * *

He jolted awake with a terrified scream.

Angelo could feel his own heart beating hard on his ribcage, the pulse resonating on his ears, a buzzing that made it difficult to think clearly and his brain feeling groggy.

He intended to sat up, only to fall back again abruptly.

It hurt so bad that he couldn’t even made a sound, once again the painful wave taking over his senses till it went away gradually.

Looking around, as much as his eyes let him, his gaze wondered on the simple and practical furniture in the room.

Angelo somehow recognized that place, but wasn’t sure how was that possible. It was more about how he felt that space quite familiar, but without being able to remember the reason.

It smelled like disinfectant, and somehow sweet. A little trace of lemon, and . . . salt.

Maybe he was on the other side already.

Good.

That was good.  
  
  


He looked across the room, expecting to see his family bursting through the door any moment. He was anxious, barely breathing. His pathetic attempts to get some air on his lungs failing miserably.

“Does it hurt?”

That voice felt like a big slap. Left him hurting, perplexed, and a bit scared.

It wasn’t the one he had expected to hear after that long, long time. Disappointed, the young man closed his eyes, giving up on reaching the place he wanted to be the most.

Apparently, he only deserved hell.

Angelo didn’t dare to answer, firstly cause he wasn’t sure about what was happening; and secondly, not knowing what was that voice’s owner doing near him.

“I hope it does. Cause you deserve it.”

Well, he already knew that.

  
He had never, not even once, tried to justified his plan or blame the rest of the entire world for his choices.  
  
He was the one who decided to take action when that letter arrived. He could have just moved somewhere else, keep living quietly, trying not to draw any attention.

But he had thrown that out of the window, on his own will just to seek after revenge.

“You fucking deserve it.”

Pure despair was palpable on that tone.

Angelo couldn’t blame him, it was understandable. Bitter and defeated, he surrendered.

Breathing was easier after the panic subsided, but his pulse was still erratic.

He gulped quietly. He wasn’t ready to face that man once again, he was supposed to be dead.

He had really wanted to die.

His fingers trembled with pure anger, keeping a tight grip on the sheets covering him. Unshed tears made his field of vision blurry when his eyes opened again, and his throat was on fire with unreleased curses and ugly words.

“I won’t let you die _._

Cause that’s all you want.  
  


So, I’ve been thinking. And, here’s the thing.”

A pause. Probably only a couple of seconds long. On that room, seemed like years.

Ragged breaths, unspoken sorrow, silent cries.

That voice left behind the previous uncertainty and pain, now more secured and demanding.

“I shot and killed **_Angelo Lagusa_** at the beach, but **_Avilio Bruno_** has to keep his word.

**_Avilio Bruno_** promised to follow my every step, and that’s what you’re gonna do.”

Angelo felt a bitter taste on his mouth.

The raven-haired boy inhaled sharply, shaking lips pressed firmly together.  
  
Tears finally streamed down his face, his chest filled with anguish and rage. Not a sound escaped his throat.

It was like the universe was laughing at him while he was convulsing from pain totally at his mercy.

As much as he tenaciously tried to embrace it, death had rejected him so many times it was pitiful and pathetic at that point.

He remained quiet, all his fighting instinct abandoning his corrupted body and rotten soul with every passing minute since he regained consciousness.

Angelo heard steps towards the bed, and he gulped anxiously. He braced and steeled himself the better he could.

Suddenly, in front of him was Nero Vanetti; with dark circles under his eyes.

  
He looked awful, and it was his fault. Everything was his fault. There was no point on blaming Vincent, nor the rest of the family.

He avenged his own, but had destroyed Nero’s along with the warm glint on his blue eyes; that looked darker than ever.

Now he wasn’t any different than those bastards that ruined his life.

Divine justice seemed futile, stupid, and a shitty excuse to became a monster in the name of love.

The racing heartbeats were the only sound in the room at that moment, and even when his brain told him to avert the other man’s gaze, Angelo simply couldn’t do it.

Nero smelt like cigarettes, cheap whiskey, and . . . pineapple.

Strong, demanding fingers grabbed his chin and tilted his head up.

He felt the anger, the pain, the betrayal on them, penetrating his skin and turning him into a shuddering mess.

Nero crouched down, his nose gracing his. He slid his thumb along his mouth prying it open, meanwhile his eyes spoked about distrust, about eternal hate, about cruelty.

“I won’t let you die, no matter how much you’d beg for it, or the shit you’d do to accomplish that.

You won’t leave my side.”

Nero’s thumb pressed down against his tongue, hardly. Angelo gasped softly.

Nero really hated him.

His chest movements couldn’t conceal his erratic breathing, and Angelo fought the impulse to bite that finger till blood filled his mouth. But there was no point on doing so.

Nero was observing him like a hunter, awaiting the chance to vent his anger on him.

And the raven-haired still wanted to die, but suffering an agonizing pain wouldn’t help him at all.  
  
He knew the blonde, and he wouldn’t go back on his word. Making him angry was pointless.

And well, the principal reason was that, he was tired.  
  


So, so tired.  
  
Exhausted.  
  


He was sick and tired of resisting and fighting against the wheel of fortune, trying to conquer death with sweet words and acting like a reckless bastard, ineffectively.

Something turned off on his very soul, deep deep inside, leaving Angelo like a rag doll lying on that bed. Empty, unresponsive, indifferent.

Nero retreated with a sudden movement, frustrated after not getting a response, and the door closing with a bang announced his departure after that.

Angelo felt like crying, but that seemed impossible at that moment. The young man didn’t attempt to get up, didn’t utter a single word, didn’t think about anything.

He directed his gaze towards the little window on his right, contemplating the sun going down, his room getting darker after a few hours of orange and rosy colours painting everything.

  
Anyone would have thought that the sunset should had felt warm by the sea, but his fingertips were cold.

His core was frozen.

He couldn’t come to terms about why Nero hadn’t killed him back then, or how he should feel about that. He made everything he could to bring the other one to hate him with passion, to drive him into a corner till the blonde had no other option than to wipe him off.

Yet he was a coward, he still wasn’t able to gather the courage to end his life all by himself.

He felt miserable, more than ever before.

* * *

Days went by, with Nero and a doctor coming in and out of his room, distant voices urging him to sit up, to move his arm, to drink water, to eat some soup.

He learnt that he had been asleep for almost a week, due to an infection. His fever broke down completely on the fifth day, and several hours later he had woken up just on intervals.

Angelo tried to remember anything of those days, but failed. He had mixed up reality with feverish dreams, unable to determine which memory was real and which one not.

No matter how frustrated the young blonde got with him, Angelo didn’t flinch with the harsh words thrown on his way.

No matter how brutally he pressed the sponge while cleaning the gun wound, the raven-haired man never spared him a look.

The bandage went away several days after, replaced with a simple wound dressing. They made him walk around the room a few days, but Angelo was still quite weak.

And non-compliant.

At nights, Angelo could finally cry. Not on his own will, thought.

Nightmares were consuming his mind, poisoning his thoughts on the solitude of the early morning.

He jolted awake every single day, between tears, sweat, and nausea. Some nights, his stomach couldn’t keep inside the few soup spoons Nero had managed to made him gulp down.

Horrific scenes toyed with his sanity like a child with his ball, to the point Angelo could _smell_ and _see_ the blood on his hands in the dark of his room.

Food started to seem tasteless, walking seemed to be a waste of time.

During the day, Angelo slept on short intervals. Sometimes, he just pretended to do so, mostly when the blonde came in his room to check his state or to try feed him.

He spent daytime napping and looking through the window.

It wasn’t that longer till he was long bony limbs, greasy hair and eye bags. Bitten nails, chapped lips, ashen skin.

His mind was living somewhere else. At nights it was hell, but awake hours were his own wonderland.

_「 Luce walked side by side with him, talking about sweet snacks and card games._

_Their mom, behind them, smelt like a spring breeze; it felt warm._

_His father strong steps opening the way in front of them were reassuring, a safe space. 」_

It was way better than reality, and his psyche succumbed to the unhealthy pleasure available only on that delusional state.

At that point, Angelo had left behind all his sense of awareness and spent his days thinking about his grand finale.

Just a way of passing boring and empty hours, daydreaming about his death was, dreadfully, his new hobby.

He liked authenticity, so choosing the method for his fantasies was a difficult task since Nero never left any sharp objects or dangerous stuff on the room.  
  


Sunday morning, not too early; Nero had made him sit in front of the opened window, where the warm breeze brushed his face.

He could feel the stickiness of the salt in the air, the waves resonated on the distance, making the atmosphere calm and quiet.

Angelo, on a chair with a towel around his shoulders, stared vacantly at the sky, started humming lowly a popular lullaby.

_◂_ _Fai la ninna, fai la nanna, con'sto fialio non c'è più pace._

_Fai la ninna, fai la nanna, pupo bello della mamma._

_Ninna oh, ninna oh. ▸_

His mother used to sing that one precisely for the brothers when they got their hair cut, the same task that had Nero occupied at that moment.

Angelo could almost smelt the spring flowers blooming around in the garden of his old house, heard the dogs barking on the distance, and the tinkling of the ice cubes melting inside big lemonades glasses on the porch table.

The woman’s voice was warmer than the sun gracing his skin, and the unexpected memory created a tiny grin on his lips during the split of a second.

Nero was talking his ear off, but somehow it felt comfortable. 

The young blonde looked like he was on an extremely good mood that day, not minding the unresponsive state of his companion.

He was persistent, for better or worse. And his behaviour towards the raven-haired man, unpredictable.  
Angelo guessed that the other one didn’t know how he should treat him. Cause Nero was a fierce man, but he wasn’t cruel for the sake of it.

Nero despised Angelo, but on the current state of the later, a rough treatment wasn’t necessary.

After all, Angelo seemed to be completely destroyed, that was how he felt.  
  


_◂ Lo daremo alla Befana , che lo tenghi una settimana._

_Lo daremo all'omo nero , che lo tenghi l'anno intero._

_Ninna oh, ninna oh. ▸_

The scissors movements around his head were secure and careful, just trimming the ends to made him look neat and clean.

Ironic, how the owner of those eyes that screamed in anger on his presence, was the same of those hands that caressed his hair kindly.

Nero started to humming along the other man softly, and reflected on the window glass, Angelo was able to appreciate once again the amused smirk on those thin lips and the mischievous glint on those sapphire eyes.

And somehow, without a second to question his reasons, or just why in that precise moment, Angelo's body acted on an impulse.

  
  


_◂ Fai la ninna, fai la nanna , pupo bello della mamma._

_Lo daremo alla Befana , che pazienzia che ci vo._

_Ninna oh, ninna oh. ▸_

The moment the blonde one left on the table the pair of scissors to comb the recently cut hair with his hands, Angelo’s right one grabbed them and stabbed himself in the neck.

_◂_ _Fai la ninna,_

_. . . fai la nanna. ▸_

There was blood everywhere.

  
A gory mess.  
  


Nero panicked, in a way that Angelo didn’t find reasonable, and put some pressure on the wound after snatching the sharp object from the raven-haired man.

He shouted something, and another guy appeared quickly.  
  
The newcomer went pale, and nodded to some orders the Vanetti gave him.  
  


Angelo felt the copper taste on his mouth, and smiled triumphantly. On contrast, his eyes started to shed tears.

He felt lightheaded, and happier than ever. It didn’t even bothered him that was probably the adrenaline manipulating his thoughts, it felt just right.  
  
But when his gaze went up, Angelo shuddered and his satisfied expression disappeared in a blink.

He couldn’t find a word that reflected all the emotions he saw taking over Nero’s face. Something like a combination of hurt, fear, and sadness 

. . . Oh.

Despair.

It was despair.  
  


And somehow, like an epiphany before his own death, he saw it crystal clear.

The reason why he was alive.

The reason why Nero let him live.

Maybe he had known all along, but turned a blind eye to. Deep down, Angelo wondered if he would have done the same.

Probably.

Funny, cause he was still sure about wanting to die, but he also felt a bit guilty about it.

Nero’s eyes were fixated on him and vice versa, while chaos unleashed around them.

The blonde blue ones looked sad, and scared. Angelo wasn’t sure about his own, but he hoped that they looked relieved.

His long blood-covered fingers trembled on his way up, and then softly caressed the other young man’s cheek staining it like a parting gift, a trace of his miserable and cursed existence painted on the other one.

They were screams, steps, people, but they didn’t move an inch.

As darkness engulfed him for what it felt like the umpteenth time since he was born, his long fingers gripped Nero’s shirt on his way down when he wasn’t able to support his arm above his head, and in between of spitting blood streams, his lips moved to whisper silently a single word.  
  


“Sorry.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lullaby is an italian popular one named 'Ninna Nanna'. It's sounds incredible btw.
> 
> And the title came from a song that inspired this chapter, it was a recomendation from Lio too (thanks again, you know me so well wow) and y'all should check it cause it's beautiful and the lyrics are amazing.
> 
> It's a cover of Sayuri's Mikazuki by My First Story.


	3. From dusk till down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language and I don't have a beta, so sorry for any typo or mistake in advance.  
> This work is explicit, so tw for violence, blood, and suicide all along the way.
> 
> Enjoy ♡

* * *

Waking up felt oddly familiar, but totally different.

  
  
Once again, he was connected to a blood bag; once again, he had bandages around his figure; once again, Nero was there.  
  
His whole body was in pain, and his neck felt like it was on fire. Angelo looked at the blonde who was standing in front of the window, deep in thought apparently, feeling somehow comforted.  
  


How ironic, this time when he opened his eyes, he felt relieved.

While darkness was conquering his senses, he couldn’t help but to feel frustrated. Abandoning the world leaving behind a bunch of unanswered questions after seeing Nero’s despair written all over his face, was an awful end.

Now that he was awake, the young man found it quite difficult to brought those inquiries up.

It was like the previous spell was already broken, leaving both of them stuck in the awkward aftermath.  
  


Oh, and his throat hurt; to be honest, considerably.  
  
He placed his left hand on that zone carefully, to find it totally covered by gauzes and bandages. That simple move attracted the other one’s attention, who stomped more than walked towards the bed.

His gaze made Angelo’s stomach to contract, his lips trembled nervously. He opened them, but Nero put his hand over them delicately.

“Don’t, you’ll hurt yourself”.

Oh, right.

He stabbed himself with a pair of scissors on that area.

Somehow, he felt embarrassed. Couldn’t say for sure if it was because of the act itself, or that once again he failed. Maybe a bit of both reasons.

It was ridiculous, to the point which the young man really questioned himself what were his real intentions.

He could have pierced himself on the chest, or even the face. But he did it on the neck.

Maybe he had the will to die, but at the last second, his body betrayed him and diverted the trajectory to a safer place. He couldn’t remember that much about that few seconds where his impulse won over his voice of reason.

When his brow started to frown, Nero’s touch took him out of the agonizing mental loop like it was nothing, his fingertips pressuring with utter care his mouth.

His hazel eyes searched for the sapphire ones, like those could have all the answers. The blonde got worried about Angelo’s agitation, and the hand over those thin lips, moved to caress the closer cheek softly.

The younger couldn’t say if that felt good, or dangerous. Like frozen fingertips tried to comfort him, but ending up scratching his skin.

“Selfish bastard.

You think you can die whenever you want to? I won’t let you.”

Surely, there was venom on his tone, and his words were harsh and serious. But the blue orbs betrayed him, helplessly, showing nothing but fear and insecurity.

The raven-haired man grabbed the older’s wrist, wrapping his long fingers around it firmly. He made Nero’s hand move, and placed it on his lips again. He pursed them, and left a soft touch on the palm, while his head started to get fuzzy. He tried to blink away the dizziness that had showed so sudden, but it was impossible.

His laboured warm breath collided with the blonde’s hand, and his eyes rolled back into his head.

He was feeling awful.

“You’re running a fever, so you better take it easy.”

Angelo was fighting the urge to stay put like a doll, and pulled the older towards him when he was turning around. He never let go the other’s shirt, not until he crouched down over him.

The younger's breath felt like it was on fire, his skin moist with sweat.  
  


The younger tried to mouth something to the blonde, but his chapped lips made the whole process almost impossible.

Nero surprisingly understood him, and grabbed a glass resting on the night table. He took out one of the ice cubes, and placed it on Angelo’s mouth.

He slid it on his dry lips, and then pushed it inside the warm cavity with his thumb.

“You can’t drink yet, but that would help.”

Angelo felt thankful for neither being able to talk, because he surely would had made a shameful noise of appreciation.

The cold ice felt like paradise on his hot tongue, and his feverish body shuddered, damp with sweat.

He was expecting the doctor from before to barge inside the room anytime, but that didn’t happen. From the light coming inside by the window, it looked like the day was coming to an end.  
Maybe he had been observing the door more than he thought, cause Nero seemed to read his mind about that.

“Doctor’s off duty until tomorrow morning. If there’s no emergency, I’ll take care of you tonight.”

He tried his best to nod, and expected the blonde to leave the room, but nothing like that happened.

  
Nero lit a lamp next to them, and moved one of the armchairs in the room next to his bed. On the night table was a notebook and a pen, he noticed.

Angelo sighed, trying to fight the motion sickness that came with the fever, but his mouth was dry once again and his body felt awfully damp. He shivered a little, and groaned softly.

That time, unlike the first time he was nursed back to health, he could felt the pain more intensively.

He was way more lucid than when he was shot, although his feelings were still all over the place while he still refused to let them sink in.

The young man wouldn’t dare to complain, obviously. He hated pain, but he did that to himself.

He lied on that bed like his body wasn’t his own, like he wouldn’t have to rethink about a lot of critical stuff, or had to acknowledge his feelings once and for all, no matter how ugly or scary they were.

He came back to his senses when a shadow covered his face, and his eyes found Nero’s. The man was holding another ice cube, and Angelo gladly complied and opened his mouth for him.

How long was it since he’d had the previous one? He felt lost.

Once again, the blonde one hydrated his lips before pushing the frozen cube atop his tongue.

That same hand was placed on his forehead, feeling cold and welcomed by the raven-haired one. His fever hadn’t subsided yet, but it wasn’t that bad that time. Nero’s hand stayed there till it went warm, and then he moved away a few steps.

“I’m gonna bring some stuff, don’t move.”

His eyebrow twitched, and an almost invisible amused grin appeared on his lips.

Obviously, there was no other option for him than to remain in bed. He appreciated the warning, thought.

Nero’s consideration felt great, but he was unworthy of such a thing. It awakened something dark on his stomach which he tried to push away while concentrating on the melting ice on his mouth.

The older came back, with several things on his arms.

Again, he wasn’t sure if it had been too long since he had left.  
  
Nero dragged a table to the other side of his bed, and put on it all the utilities he had collected. Angelo noticed that it wasn’t the same table were the scissors rested that fatidic sunday morning.

He couldn’t look around with his neck patched; but he wondered about the floor and if there would be a blood stain on it next to the window, or if it would have been thoroughly cleaned.

Somehow, it was unnerving.

If there was one, he was sure that the stupid reddish trace would mock him every time he looked on its direction. Whispering harsh words about his evil deeds, filling the place with a putrid scent reminding him his cowardly-

“Stop that.

Stop overthinking.”

  
Angelo was startled by the finality on that tone. He glanced at his companion utterly confused, trying to tone down the ugly voices on his head.

“Your eyes always darken when you go far away from here. They were like that when you stabbed yourself.

Stop that.”

He was speechless, but not only by a physical handicap.

A whirl of mixed emotions wrecked him for a moment, after settling down and nodding awkwardly.

  
Yeah, he could do that.

Just stoping overthinking, silencing the horrific whispers on the back of his head, remaining sane and composed.

  
He could do that . . . right?

Nero went on with the preparations he had started a few minutes ago, not without glazing at him out of the corner of his eye from time to time.

He knew it was surely his fault, after attempting to end his life. And honestly, he couldn’t blame him at all.

There was a price to pay for his reckless act, of course. So that was how, seemingly he got himself an unwanted, strong, rude babysitter.

He closed his eyes for a moment, dealing the best he could with an abrupt wave of nausea.

He was getting little memory pieces of the puzzle that it was that weekend. The lullaby, Nero’s smile while humming along with him, the feel of the cold sharp steel opening up his flesh like butter.

Nero holding him on his arms, pressuring the injury, looking scared out of his mind.

His apology.

Why had he apologized? He wasn’t sure about it.  
Was he feeling that regretful? Although he would slaughter the Vanettis once again without a doubt if he were to go back in time?

Nero was disturbed about him dying, he had seen it with his own eyes.

The older had taken care of him while he was wounded, while he was sick on his head, while he couldn’t tell apart reality from hallucinations.

Why? Was Nero trying to make him feel remorse? Was he trying to redeem his soul for his previous criminal life?

Angelo wanted to ask so much things, to himself, to the other one. But he wasn’t able to.

Not with that wound, not with that fear inside him. He wasn’t stable enough to ponder about the blonde’s motives behind his kindness, or how long it would last.

He would take the days as they came, trying to get rid of his poisoned thoughts as the first task.

Suddenly, he felt something damp and cold on his forehead. He sighed happily, and turned his face to Nero’s above him.

The dizziness was bearable at that moment.

He hoped that his expression conveyed all his gratitude towards the young man, because he wasn’t ready to vocalize a single thing yet. He didn’t want to do that either.

Nero remained silent while alleviating his overheathed face, then went on with his caretaker duties.

He grabbed the notebook on the bedside table and flipped over some pages, reading while moving his lips. It was quite . . . endearing.

Finally, he put it aside, and moved to the raven-haired arm.

“I’m gonna take out this needle here, and tomorrow the doctor will give you again medicine for the fever and to avoid infection.

Don’t move.”

Angelo nodded once, and observed with curiosity the older one’s fingers working. It was clear that he wasn’t an experienced doctor, but he was quick and neat.

After extracting the intravenous, he cleaned the spot with some disinfectant and covered it.

“It wasn’t that hard, huh.”

Nero’s muttered words sounded relieved, and he couldn’t help but to admire him when he saw the other’s usual smile on his face. It felt familiar, and way better than the pained or angry expressions he had worn on prior days.

Next one on the blonde’s list, was going to be a bit complicated for both of them.

Because of Angelo’s restricted moves, and the whole ordeal between them.

Angelo’s questioning gaze made Nero went still when he came closer to his torso, and the blonde glared at him with a furrowed brow.

“Don’t look at me like that, doc said it was important to keep the bed and your body clean.”

Oh, so that was it.

It made sense, but that didn’t help to make it any less strange.

Nero pulled back the sheets to reveal his figure. This time too, he was only on his underwear.

It was practical for treatment like that, he got it. He didn’t mind his nudity that much, and Nero didn’t seem to be disturbed either. It was better that way for both.

Nero grabbed a towel, and submerged it on a bowl with hot water and a bit of soap.

When the soft and warm cloth grazed his skin, Angelo sighed delighted. Something so simple felt like a luxury after coming back from death for a second time.

The clean smell of the soap made him grin softly, and Nero’s eyes didn’t fail to catch that, for the way in which he returned that gesture with one of his own.

The blonde started with his legs. Angelo kept silent while the other moved them as he considered necessary, although with his stomach on a knot.

It should be unnerving to share such an intimate moment between them, after all their story was filled with nothing but betrayal and pain. But somehow it felt right, relaxing, and that was what had the younger so nervous, ironically.

Angelo’s thoughts were still fuzzy because of his temperature, and the passing time was a bit confusing for him.

When he was aware of his surroundings again, Nero was sat on the edge of the bed, while wiping clean his chest.

He should have fallen sleep at some point.

It was evident that his ribcage was more pronounced that it should, so the blonde’s brow was furrowed while working on that area although he didn’t say a word about it.

He was skinnier than ever; the raven-haired was aware of that.

He had tried to be functional on those dark prior days, but at some point he had lost his appetite, or his will to eat. By the way the older’s eyes were analysing his figure, Angelo knew that skipping meals wouldn’t be an option never again.

Well, maybe that was what he needed. A little push, a strong will that replaced his own dead one.

This was the second time he had awaken in front of the Vanetti.

This was an underserving and unexpected second chance, perhaps a major force urging him to live.

Protesting didn’t change anything. Surrendering didn’t change anything. Succumbing to madness didn’t change anything.

  
It was time to do things differently.

“Don’t do something like that ever again.”

Angelo’s eyes connected with Nero’s abruptly after listening to those words, the only thing between them the lamp light flickering, and the rise and fall of his exposed chest.

“I hate you.

You betrayed me.

You took everything away from me.”

Nero looked down to his own hands for a moment, before resuming the improvised bath by changing the damp cloth atop of the younger’s forehead, after making it cold again.

“I hate you.

But I hate being alone even more.

You owe me this.

You are to stay with me.”

A couple of months ago, Angelo would have laughed on his face, called him weak, and spat a few venomous words with all his might.

But on that night, bedridden, injured, depressed, scared, also lonely, and so, so tired; he nodded.

He just fucking simply nodded.

  
  


Until the blonde’s thumb pressed against his cheek tenderly, he didn’t realize that he had shed a few tears.

He felt so small, so ugly, so fragile.

There was no need for more words, not like any of them would had known what to say.

Nero helped him into a clean white shirt, and changed the top sheet.

He added a thin blanket, and whispered softy.

“You should rest.”

Angelo expected the other one to leave the room for real that time when the older went out, but he had returned just some minutes before with a new glass filled with ice.

He had fed him one of them before sitting down next to him.

  
  
The raven-haired closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but wasn’t able to do immediately.

He, discreetly, observed the young man next to him.

Nero had been writing on the aforementioned notebook for a while, then he had checked the younger one pulse and temperature before accommodating on the armchair, and finally had covered himself with a blanket too.

Angelo relaxed as much as he could, maybe for the first time in a long time.

He had obtained at least one answer, an important one thought.  
  
Nero was scared of being alone. That was what he had realized before fainting from blood loss.

That was the reason why he had apologized to his supposed rival.

Angelo though it was quite selfish to keep him alive just for that, but who was he trying to fool? He was scared of loneliness too.  
He would had done the same in Nero’s shoes.

The older one would always had someone to blame next to him, someone to accompany him even if it was against his will, he would always have someone who knew who the Vanettis were next to him, someone to preserve his identity.

  
He contemplated all the past events of the last days and thinking about those which where to come, and decided that it was too hard to get an answer in a few minutes while being sick when he had spent years without finding the right one.

His fever did the rest for him, and he felt asleep after a little while.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking some liberties about the medical stuff on those years. After doing proper research and consulting a friend of mine with medical knowlegde, they advised me how to approach those parts.  
> Hope y'all don't mind.
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and the comments, btw!!  
> I really aprecciate them ♡♡♡


	4. Bursting out of the seams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language and I don't have a beta, so sorry for any typo or mistake in advance.  
> This work is explicit, so tw for violence, blood, and suicide all along the way.
> 
> Enjoy ♡

* * *

It had been a bit more of two weeks, and his wound was finally getting better.

  
Angelo were allowed to walk around the room a couple of days after his fever went down; and later that week he had started to eat bit by bit; although initially it was only broth or, at best, mashed meals.

He had been forbidden to talk at first because of the possible pain or discomfort, and just the day before he had finally pronounced a few words after the incident.

Angelo had mixed feelings about that, thought.  
He, of course, was glad to be able to communicate normally once again, but his voice was . . . different. It sounded deeper, raspier, and completely estrange to his ears.

He was perplexed for a few minutes when he heard himself, and looked at the two men on his room for answers.

Nero was as confused as him apparently, his gaze was focused on the old man too.

The doctor had said that, although the scissors hadn’t pierced any vital parts of his neck, the vocal cords were probably damaged. The man had also said that he was lucky he had stabbed himself in the centre of that area and not on the sides, where all the important arteries and veins were.

Nero had pinned him to the bed with his cold stare almost reprimanding him, Angelo had ignored it the best he could.

To be frank, Angelo wasn’t even sure if it was that or not. Maybe it was, indeed, just a stroke of luck on his impulsive act; or maybe, in spite of his deteriorated mental state, subconsciously his hand had moved the scissors to a safer place on the last second.

The raven-haired man had his doubts about almost every though on his mind since he awoke the first time after getting shot. He might felt less unfocused those recent days, but it was far from being perfectly lucid.

He couldn’t remember that much about that day, just some snippets here and there that the raven-haired was sure were corrupted by his psychotic break. Just the lullaby, Nero’s smile, and the feeling of the blade on his skin were crystal clear on his memory.

Every time he tried to think about the exact moment he had stabbed himself, his head hurt like hell; and a dark, huge wave of anxiety and pure panic threatened to eat him alive from the inside.

On his best days, he could evoke a few flashes of his past, the main themes of his realistic nightmares (Corteo’s last special wave and sad smile, Luce’s eyes full of terror while they were still inside the closet, his mom begging for mercy). Those, and his seventh birthday one.  
That was a recurrent bad dream for him, it was horrible seeing his family bleeding to death around his cake and Nero stabbing him knuckles-deep in the stomach again and again.

At least, Angelo was aware this time that something has gone wrong in his mind at some point, probably while he was recovering from the shot.

Or maybe sooner, perhaps it was there since he was a child and it got worse with the years. He wasn’t sure what was happening on his mind, but there was something twisted living in there, waiting for him to reach his weakest moment and lure him into despair.

It was terrifying. He would describe it like a little spider sneaking into your ear, whispering ugly things to keep you distracted and paralyzed, and in the meantime, it would spread his venomous web everywhere. He had tried to free himself from it, only to discover that it was already too late.

It would take time, and there was no way to guarantee that every single thread could be erased.

On the other hand, there were his issues with Nero.  
  
The blonde was clearly trying to pretend everything was normal, acting like Angelo hadn’t crushed his entire family only a couple of months ago. He took care of his meals, of his personal hygiene, he kept him entertained, and he even played the nursing role for the doctor when it was necessary.

But Angelo could see them, Nero’s eye bags and permanent frown betrayed him greatly. The dark circles around his orbs talked about sleepless nights and too much worries locked inside his head.

  
The way the elder’s gaze hadn’t met his own since the night he had ordered the raven-haired to stay with him was almost insulting, especially after spouting all those emotional statements.  
Although the blonde talked about meaningless stuff while taking care of the younger, it was evident that Nero’s purpose was to fill the awkward silence between them. It was casual chat, impersonal topics, and ironically, it made the atmosphere weirder than usual.

Angelo wasn’t good with social customs, more than not on the sharp side when interacting with other people. So, when Nero tried to act nonchalantly, all the feedback he got from his companion was a few grunts and short nods.

But he never complained about that.

Probably, Angelo thought, because the older one didn’t have the heart to be cruel to someone injured in more than one way. Nero was too kind on some matters for his own good. Perhaps even the doctor had asked everyone to refrain from scolding him by the moment.

Or they just didn’t even know how to act. It was a weird situation for both men, and Nero’s insistence on having Angelo stuck to him no matter what, could be an auto imposed duty acting like a lifeline.

There was no doubt that Nero was hurt too. Not physically, but internally. Not in his mind, but on his emotions.

He looked exhausted, he tried to pretend he was right, he tried to act like his freedom hadn’t sunk deeper now that he was a fugitive. He had lost the Vanetti household, his privileges as the leader, and he only had left a few loyal underlings keeping all of them safe.

The cherry on top in that predicament, he also was taking care of the person who was the cause of all his current problems.

Exhaling slowly, Angelo looked out of the window. A wrecked and unhealthy alliance wouldn’t help them in any way, yet both had refused on their own ways to let go. They were licking each other’s wounds (perhaps, more like pushing their respective indexes inside each other injuries) and that was all.

Angelo had several chances of escaping that house, but never actually tried to. His room was on the first floor, but he was already good enough to try and get to the door if he wanted to leave that badly.

That spoke volumes about how lost and scared he was.

Where to go? Where to live? How to hide? He wasn’t ready for all of that yet, and given the way his mind some days still played games with his perception, he wouldn’t be any time soon.

Nero was a great help, but also a constant reminder of his past bad deeds. Often, Angelo felt angry at the blonde for not killing him back then. On a lesser extent, there were days during which he was something like ‘grateful’ that his life had been spared.  
Whenever he saw those blue eyes, and those big hands grazed his skin, the younger had to deal with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions inside his chest.

And it wasn’t easy.

* * *

Angelo had gotten out of the bed that morning feeling a bit better than the rest of the week.

He washed and shaved almost without needing help, and then he had walked around the room until he felt tired. Not a single bad dream the prior night.

Now, he stood in front of the opened window, enjoying the salty breeze pricking at his skin. He closed his eyes letting the fresh air to take away his worries. At least one day of peace, that was all he wished for.  
It was cloudy, but he didn’t mind it at all. Neither when it started to drizzle.

It felt like a good sign, like the gentle rain would wash away all his troubles for the day. He smiled softly, and lifted his arm to the window.  
Raindrops hit against his hand; they were cold on his skin, his palm getting soaked little by little. He had never known before the scent of rain near the beach, but he discovered that he loved it. It was new and different.

  
Angelo closed his eyes, and tried to imagine how his naked feet would feel while walking on the slightly wet sand, how the mist would make his clothes stuck to his body from head to toe, how would mix together the salty scent of the sea with the sweeter one of the rain.

He smiled so, so softly, that it could had been overlooked easily.

Only a few minutes later, he perceived Nero’s figure behind him, and that made his tiny smile to dim almost completely. He didn’t like how feelings of guilt and vulnerability would stir up within him whenever the other young man was on his presence.

He refused to turn around, and although he wasn’t that comfortable with his ‘new’ voice yet, he opened his mouth nevertheless. 

“I think I like rainy days.

I didn’t hate them before or anything like that, it was just . . . I think I never really paid attention to the world around me.  
I was too busy feeling angry, sad, and frustrated.”

Angelo opened his eyes, blinking away the stinging sensation on them quickly.

“I’ve done the same to you now, haven’t I? This is an endless circle. I’m well aware of the curse I pushed onto your shoulders.”

That was good, right? He was trying to communicate with the older man, he was putting on words some thoughts he had those last days while the blonde took care of him.

“The worst part is, I don’t regret it. I don’t.  
Every single time I start to have doubts, I only have to remember my mother and Luce’s faces when they were shot like dogs to dismiss that feeling.”

His arm went down, his irises a tad darker than minutes before.

What was that? He hadn’t intended to say something so blunt. Angelo blinked, while, for no apparent reason, his mood changed drastically and his breath and pulse got faster. He tried to drown those dark words at the back of his head, but in the end he wasn’t able to.

He halfway turned to face the other man, with a furrowed brow and inhaling deeply to avoid shedding a single tear.  
He didn’t have the will to cry in front of Nero anymore, it was pointless.

“I’m really sorry for everything, but I’d do it again without hesitating.”

Was that even possible? To feel those contradictory emotions at the same time? He sure felt both, but he was losing his mind as time went by in exchange.  
Feeling remorse and no regrets about the same act was eating his mental stability, or more like, what was left of it.

“You know that, yet you are determined to keep me by your side.

You’re a selfish bastard, playing houses like an idiot, you should let me go already. You should have killed me back then; you should have let me die.”

He felt in debt to the blonde, and he didn’t like it. He was angry, and depressed, and trying to get all of that off his chest even if it was at the cost of hurting the other man.

He was cruel, despicable. He wanted to feel something strong enough to wake him up inside, something hard enough to awake his soul from the numbness it was trapped in.

That would feel nice for a change. The younger wanted to see Nero’s hurt expression. He wanted to make the other man to falter, just long enough to finish him with his venomous words-

“What are you trying to get at?”

Angelo frowned, confused. He blinked a couple of times, his eyes wandering around the room.  
Why had he said that? That wasn’t what he wanted to say at all, really.

His hands trembled, and he tried to hide it by grabbing his shirt. His gaze now fixed at his feet in fear of seeing the other’s rage written all upon his face.

He gritted his teeth and inhaled slowly, getting ready for a ride he knew he wouldn’t like at all. There was nothing he could answer the older one, because he wasn’t quite sure why he had said all that stuff. He had woken up feeling better, he thought it was going to be a better day. He had though his now raspy voice wasn’t that bad, but those cruel words had left behind a thorny path on his throat on their way out.

“Are you trying to put the blame on me? I was a powerless brat back then.

I’m not my family, _Avilio_.”

He really wasn’t. That was the hardest part of all for Angelo. He fully understood that he had ruined Nero’s life although he was the only Vanetti that didn’t deserve it. He indeed had no choice but to follow Vincent’s command seven years ago, and yet he chose not to kill him when he had the chance to do so.

Not once, but twice. Three times actually, if he took into account that one on the backseat of Cerotto’s car when the young man was mere seconds ago from pulling the trigger.

“Saying once again that I should have killed you?

Angelo held his breath, terrified but knowing there was an incoming storm, with his stomach in a knot.

“I fucking know that! Now I know that! Every fucking day when I open my eyes and I wake up in this shitty house that smells like blood and despair I regret not shooting you!

I’ve lost my family too, _Avilio_!

Nero panted, his eyes shooting daggers to the raven-haired.  
  


That outburst was his fault, and Angelo felt horrible for pushing the other man to that point. His lower lip trembled like he was that lost child once more, and he saw how his tears crashed against the floor when his head lowered. He felt awful, like his guts were on fire and there was something bitter at the back of his tongue.

“You took everything away from me.”

Angelo didn’t dare to raise his gaze after hearing Nero. There was no way he would be able to face the young man after hearing that sadness on his words.

He felt ashamed all of sudden, and wanted to crawl under a rock. Not really because of his previous words, but because he hadn’t intended to be cruel to the other one. There was something wrong with his mind, and on those moments he was painfully aware of it.

He flinched when he heard the door being slammed shut shortly after, and he bit his lower lip trying to contain himself. It was useless, a couple of seconds after Nero’s departure, the raven-haired broke down sobbing.

Angelo felt frustrated at how he had lost control over his thoughts, over his acts. How weak he felt, how tired he was, how much he wanted to disappear but actually didn’t have the guts to end things once and for all.  
He cried until there was nothing left on his mind, until there were no more tears to shed, until his throat protested vehemently with every little sound he made.

He needed to let everything out of his chest to be able to breath well once again.

In the end it was cathartic, to be honest. He felt quite better and his mind was clearer after crying his heart out.

His head hurt a bit and his eyes were surely red and swollen, but he didn’t care. He really felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders. He felt exhausted too. Docile.

Angelo moved to the window for a second time that day, almost smiling ironically when he realized it had stopped raining not long ago. It was still cloudy, thought, but not very dark.

Funny how the weather had decided to accompany his mood for the day.

* * *

It was almost lunchtime, so he went to the bathroom on that same floor to tidy up himself a bit. When he came back to the room, he smelled the chicken soup the moment he opened the door.

He had expected one of Nero’s underlings after the nasty confrontation that same morning, not the man himself. But there was no doubt, that wide back was the blonde’s.

The younger steps faltered a bit on his way to the table, not sure on how to act. They had had a big argument a few hours ago, that it had been his own fault. So when he sat down at the table, he did it while avoiding the other man gaze, trying to think about something to say to pacify the atmosphere on the room.  
An apology would be an adequate way to start, but it was difficult and probably not enough. Angelo wasn’t fond of showing his emotions that easily; and the prior breakdown had left him a bit sensitive, which made him quite uncomfortable.

Nero grabbed another chair and moved it next to the younger, where one might say it was closer than usual. The younger wasn’t sure about the other intentions. He knew Nero wasn’t cruel per se, but after that big argument the air between them was simply weird and Angelo got a bit tense.

Nero’ sapphire eyes weren’t as lively as usual, the dark eye bags at that point were always present on his face made his face paler in comparison, and he was looking at the plate with a clouded brow.

The raven-haired heard the other one sighing deeply, and then a mighty right hand took the spoon from his pale and long one. He observed the blonde in wonder, not sure about what to expect.

The older simply filled it with some soup, and move his arm to feed him personally. It was a bit embarrassing, and Angelo actually remained still for a few seconds before accepting the cutlery into his mouth. It was good, and it had actually some noodles on it since he was starting to eat more normally already.

What it wasn’t good was Nero’s gaze on him, how his other arm was resting on top of the chair’s backrest he was sat on. How he felt under that proximity. The intimacy was too much, and in other circumstances the raven-haired would have put up more of a fight, but after that morning he was totally drained.

There was some fear, some concern, but some shyness too. There was a time that being that close to each other wouldn’t had been a problem, but now it felt quite awkward. And yet, deep down, the younger didn’t want the other man to move away. He felt less isolated.

“I don’t regret it.”

Angelo observed the blonde without uttering a word, he just continued to allow being fed with the remaining dish. Their gaze connected when Angelo opened his mouth once again, and suddenly he felt the blonde’s free hand on his nape. It was like electricity, just a little spark igniting something warm inside his chest.

The touch felt soft, the fingertips moving softly and caressing his skin. Nero’s thumb was rubbing circles almost below his ear, and the raven-haired rewarded the older with an appreciative sound after taking a few more spoons of his meal.

Nero released the cutlery once the younger had finished everything, without glancing away from him.

“I should, thought. But I just can’t.

You lost your family because of mine. I lost mine because of you. I simply can’t kill you.

Plus, there’s nothing left now, were both miserable.”

Angelo inhaled deeply, trying to keep his emotions at bay. He was disgusted with himself, and how easy was those days to bring him to tears. It wasn’t like him at all.

“I asked myself what to do about this situation between us. Nothing felt right, or enough to finish this cursed circle of revenge. All I could think about was your horrible driving skills and the tooth-rooting sweetness of the damn pineapple you used to eat.”

Angelo’s heart skipped a bit upon hearing that, and he choke down the urge to cry like there was a waterfall on his eyes. He felt a tug on his chest when he realized that the blonde hadn’t forget the little things.

“So I went and bought an entire box of pineapple cans for you. For you, who was more dead than alive on that bed, who despise my family with all his might.

And that got me thinking. Why? Why would I care about you in the slightest?”

That was something he usually had wondered those last months too.

Nero sighed softly while his fingers kept massaging the raven-haired skin.

“Maybe I just wanted you here to make me feel better. Maybe I’m a fucking idiot, but I think that I prefer to have you with me rather than not. It’s very selfish, but you were like an empty shell that I couldn’t leave alone.”

Nero’s hand moved from the nape to the other’s cheek. He held his face in silence during a brief moment, just contemplating his traits; then resumed his discourse.

“Taking care of you those days was quite a ride.

I didn’t expect it to affect me that much, seeing you so damaged inside. All those nightmares, all those days you were unresponsive. When you stabbed yourself I-“

Just silence, for a couple of minutes. Silence that spoke volumes between them on that quiet room.

Nero leaned forward, his eyes never glancing away from the younger ones.

“I’m tired of being angry, and bitter, and I don’t wanna fight with you anymore. I don’t wanna take your life for revenge, neither have you chained to the bed.

Once you get better and the doc say so, you’re free to leave this house. I won’t chase after you.

You’ll have to make a decision about what you wanna do.”

That wasn’t something he had expected to hear. Not after the way the older man had insisted on keeping him on his side. And somehow, he understood that the man that he had met after being shot, wasn’t the same that it was with him now, nor the one that welcomed him into his household.

Angelo inhaled slowly and deeply when Nero’s thumb caressed his lower lip before retreating, his heart pounding hard against his ribcage. Those sapphire eyes had been looking at him unwavering the whole time, they had reflected all the security of the old Nero he once knew.

That had put him at ease a bit, as ridiculous as it sounded.  
Maybe because he thought that there was also a chance for him to became a better version of himself. One that wouldn’t make him feel like jumping from a cliff.

The blonde stood up, and walked towards the door with the empty dish on his hand, just stopping a second to say something before leaving:

“But I’d like you to stay here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with my 'songs that inspire me to write this chapter' bullshit. This one screams 'Ashley' by /unnecessary drum roll/ Halsey.
> 
> The pace of this story might feel slow, but I'm really trying to be coherent with the general development. I'm a perfectionist it's in my blood. Bare with me for a little longer.
> 
> Thanks again for all your sweet comments, they really motivate me ♡♡♡♡♡♡


	5. Built to love, but broken now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language and I don't have a beta, so sorry for any typo or mistake in advance.  
> This work is explicit, so tw for violence, blood, and suicide all along the way.
> 
> Enjoy ♡

* * *

“Okay, don’t move now.”

  
Angelo blinked to show he had understood. Nero was holding a flashlight while the doctor got ready to work.

Both men came into his room and woke him up, the facultative announcing that he was going to remove the stitches from his neck that morning. So Angelo lied down bright- eyed, eager to be freed of that restriction that limited his head movements.

Now, with both the bullet wound and the neck injury almost healed, he was expecting to feel less angsty and useless. Since a young age, the raven-haired had provided for himself on his own, so he was very independent. Feeling clumsy and having to ask for help every other minute didn’t sit well with his personality and made him ruder and bitter towards the rest.

He tried to control it, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. He was doing better than before, even though there were some nasty remarks here and there along the way there was nothing like the prior argument between them a few days ago.

Looking back, he had started to consider that cathartic moment his breaking point. He behaved shamefully driven by anger and frustration, and as a result he got hurt by his temper. Crying his heart out afterwards felt like throwing away a huge portion of his dark thoughts, it was like cleaning himself inside if he had to put in words.

Not like he was perfectly ok after that, not at all. He simply regained some control over his intrusive thoughts, therefore he felt more confident than before when he had to speak aloud with other people.

He was trying to get used to share some of his feelings rather than kept them locked in, seeing now how that had backfired previously for his mental health as well as his current relationship with the older.

* * *

Trying to digest everything that had happened between them wasn’t easy.

Angelo was having a hard time processing Nero’s suggestion about staying in that house with him; and the fact that that man had no qualms about being painfully clear of what he wanted. On the other hand, in contrast with the blonde’s bluntness, Angelo was two steps away from pulling his hair out due to indecision the moment he tried to give the idea some though.

Being frank, the part of his mind that urged him to pack his few belongings and leave that house was controlled mainly by his pride.

He had tried to kill that man, only to be aware that he was incapable of pulling the trigger at the last second. Angelo’s shell had cracked on those days spent on the run, getting to know Nero and separating him from the Vanetti’s next Don aspect.

The young, cheeky, smart, and charming man he had spent his days driving around and sharing cigarettes wasn’t the same heartless man he had created on his mind.

That had left him doubting about how to proceed, and when Corteo looked him with those judging eyes he felt miserable.

Every day he had woken up, after a restless night of disturbing dreams, wondering if he really was avenging his family or if he was losing his path and just getting consumed by the enemy and his dirty games.

The line was very thin.

  
  
Angelo felt he was already indebted to Nero. Since the first time he opened his eyes and found himself lying on that bed he was aware that the blonde had spare his life once again.

And well, staying at his side wasn’t that bad for his pride as long as he was a ‘hostage’ in that house. He told himself so many times that there was nothing he could do, that he had to get better first, that he wasn’t really aware that that day would arrive sooner or later.

He had the excuse of being held against his will, that he was injured and escaping was too risky. He was living comfortably under Nero’s wing, ignoring all the issues surrounding them like vultures waiting for their prey to rot.

So, having to take a decision on his own knowing his peaceful days on that fake normality were ending, was a huge deal for his fragile mind.

But what would he do when he got better? He had to think about it carefully.

And now he had learned from the doctor that he was a month away to finally be recovered.

That day, Angelo got up a bit later than usual. He had a long, good night of sleep, the first one in months; and his mood improved a bit thanks to that.  
Before, he had been itching to take a shower, but had had to settle for baths. His neck wound made difficult some daily routines, and he was told to be careful for a month or so even after having the stitches removed, but he had won new priviledges like that one.

He dried his hair the best he could, then put some clothes on, and lastly he went back to his room. It was sunny, although the weather was still a bit cold, it felt nice when he opened the window. He sighed softly, just gazing at the sea.  
  
Someone knocked on his door, and he gave the ok to come in. He was expecting the doctor, or some underling with the breakfast, but he was wrong once again.  
There stood Nero, with an undecipherable expression on his face. Angelo turned around feeling curious, and a bit scared.  
There was always and underlying tension between both men those days, never sure about how their conversations would end. Maybe with a soft smile, maybe with a door slamming.  
  
Ah, he was exhausted. In a few ways actually.

“Let’s have breakfast.”

Angelo observed his slightly taller companion, cocking an eyebrow.

Of course, he had no problems with that suggestion, they had already shared space during meals lots of days. But for some reason, Nero looked nervous that morning.

It was intriguing.

“I mean, downstairs. Let’s have breakfast downstairs.”

Oh, so that was it.  
  
Angelo actually stopped himself from nodding, feeling his chest a bit too tight for comfort. The raven-haired felt confused for a solid minute trying to guess why he found breathing a bit harder than a few seconds ago.  
  


“ . . . You don’t have to, of course.  
It’s just, you haven’t get out of this room since your arrival.”

Angelo raised his head after those words, blinking away his surprised look.

  
That … was correct. He hadn’t gone out of there.

He didn’t even know what the rest of the house looked like, how close it really was to the beach, or what kind of furniture the kitchen had. Where was Nero sleeping.

He felt safe in that room, and it was futile to deny that he was a bit scared of leaving it. Not like he needed to share that with Nero, it didn’t matter that the blonde had figured out the problem even before himself. Verbalizing something like that was out of the question.

The younger looked at his shoes with a furrowed brow for a brief moment. He inhaled slowly, and braced himself before meeting the blonde’s eyes and agreeing by a short nod.  
  
Nero’s lips drew a tiny grin, and he gave another short nod in response.

“I’ll wait for you outside.”

* * *

Nero’s bedroom was in front of his own. It was clean, cozy, austere, with a huge closet, that he supposed contained all kind of weapons, drawing all the attention.

Next to each one of their rooms, there was two extra bedrooms occupied by Nero’s men. At the end of the corridor, on each side of the stairs, there was a storage room and the bathroom he had been using.

He had heard the steps on the first floor from time to time, so he knew they weren’t alone. He wasn’t sure about how many people were sleeping on that space next to them, but at least now he knew where to find the blonde in case of emergency.  
  
They went downstairs, and Nero showed him around. From close up to far, on his left there was Nero’s office, and a huge living room. On his right, a bathroom, a dining room, and the kitchen.

The office was similar to the blonde’s one that he had on the Vanetti’s house, and he might had shivered a little when he came inside. The living room had a piano, that he had never heard being played before, pricey furniture and a pompous chandelier.

The dining room had a long table, and it looked like it wasn’t frequently used. The kitchen was spacious and clean, with a table next to the large window.

It was a big house, lightly decorated, and well maintained. There was a covered porch too, and the beach was really close to the building. Angelo liked that.

Nero left him wander around for a bit, till the smell of coffee spread all over the floor. Before the blonde needed to ask him, Angelo went to the kitchen, where the other man was serving two cups of the warm drink.

“Oh, just in time. C’mon, sit down.”

The younger somehow expected just that.

Sure, there was a huge dining room next to the kitchen, but the blonde usually preferred humbler spaces if he had the chance to choose. The worn out wooden table fit him better than the elegant, long one in the adjacent room.

When the raven-haired sat down, he realized there was a few dishes on the table already. There were toasts, fruit salad, and bacon. He sighed softly while observing the amount of pineapple on the fruit cocktail, and stole a glance at his companion.  
Nero was humming while serving the scrambled eggs from the pan into a plate, those familiar shoulders that seemed to cover him up from every possible thread, flexing with every move.

Was that back always that broad? He wasn’t sure about it. Was he always that sappy? Not at all.  
Maybe his mood was still affected, and in addition, the uncertainty about the future had him restless and more nervous than usual.

What caught the younger’s attention was the gun resting under the other’s arm. The weapon made his skin crawl, and the young man tried to contain his need of moving away from it.

Angelo’s breath turned unstable, and he swore he could smell a mix of blood and gunpowder right under his nose. He could hear the loud shot. He gagged a bit, and a cold sweat went down his spine. His fingers trembled slightly while gripping the table corners.

There was no doubt, that feeling was fear. That reaction was unexpected, but until that moment he hadn’t had the chance to see any kind of gun near him. And he almost couldn’t believe his body response.

It was ironic, after all he had done with one of those things on his hands, now he trembled at the mere sight of it.

Feeling quite worried about his unusual reaction, Angelo was about to get lost on his dark thoughts when the blonde placed a cup of coffee in front of him. He blinked, gazing upwards, and there was concern on those sapphire eyes observing his pale face.

“What’s wrong? You were ok a minute ago. Are you feeling sick?”

The other man crouched down a bit, and his big warm hands held the younger’s face with utter care. Nero checked his temperature, but it was normal.

Angelo breathed on the blonde’s personal scent, and tried to regain his composure faking a tiny smile.

“I’m ok, just a bit tired. And hungry.”

Not at all, but that was the better option to distract the other one. Nero’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, and gave a short nod in agreement.

“You have to eat, you’re still too thin. That’s not good.”

Nero was about to serve breakfast on their respective plates, when his arm bumped on the weapon hanging on his side. He clicked his tongue, and took off the harness to hang it on his chair. Angelo relaxed a bit, now that, even if it that damn thing was still close, it was out of his sight. While Nero resumed his task and before he sat in front of the younger, the later made use of that minutes to calm himself and got his normal breathing rhythm back.

He considered to say something about his unexpected reaction, but Nero seemed to be in a good mood and Angelo didn’t want to spoil the meal.

The blonde, unaware of the younger’ internal struggle, served some eggs and bacon on both plates, and pushed one of the fruit cups to the raven-haired with a smug face.

“You better eat that, cause I really have an entire box of that damn canned sweet thing.

I wasn’t joking you know?

I figured that you’d bitch about the lack of taste on this house if there wasn’t any of it.”

Angelo chuckled.

He simply chuckled.  
It was a totally spontaneous, unconscious, and bright action.

That simple statement had diverted his attention from sheer fear to a pleasant stimulus.

He had buried that info under all the emotional weight of their previous fight.

Nero’s thoughtfulness made his chest tight and warm, made his shoulders lift a bit, made his day less gloomy. It was stupid, he almost couldn’t recognize himself. He had never paid attention to the little things, to be honest.  
Like how he liked the rain, how he could actually taste the salty sea breeze, or how nice it felt when someone had a disinterested gesture to make you happy.

Nero’s lips answered the same way and sported a smile of his own, one that he hid behind the cup of coffee.

Angelo started to eat right away, his eyes lighting up softly when he tasted his favourite fruit after so long. A few minutes later, Nero had to point out to the untouched toast, eggs and bacon in front of him.  
  
The raven-haired complied, and started to eat the rest of his breakfast, deep in thought. Honestly, he felt pretty much at ease in the blonde’s company, as weird as it could be. They fought sometimes, but they talked it out afterwards. After all what had happened between them they still care for the other one.

He couldn’t deny that fact, it was him who decided not to shot the older when he had the chance. Consequently, that man chose not to kill him in retaliation, quite the opposite.

Those big and strong hands had touched him with utter care and respect since day one, not a single complain about his mood changes and cruel words, whether those were intentional or not.

Angelo stopped for a moment to realize that he was very much alive, well fed, well dressed, medically treated, with a roof over his head, and a kind and powerful man was making sure that they were safe.

That same young man that was sitting across the table, chatting about pancake recipes with a soft smile and gentle blue eyes looking right at him.

Angelo left the empty cup on the table, sliding his index around it while he tried to sort his thoughts out. He raised his gaze to his companion, and with a calm tone he spoke.

  
  
“I wanna go shooting.”

Nero, who was midway to finish a piece of toast, paused for a moment and observed him puzzled.

“I think I’m a bit afraid of guns now. I’ve seen yours before you sat down and I almost panicked.”

He awaited with a stoic expression, but his heart was going nuts inside his ribcage. That was hard as hell to say aloud. It was quite embarrassing too.

It was the first time he allowed himself to act on impulse in the blonde’s company, mainly because if he were to decide whether to speak out or not about his prior reaction, he would get cold feet and kept his mouth shut.  
That could evolve into something more serious, and he was already drained of trying to remain unbroken in so many ways.

Anyone would had burst out laughing, but he knew whom he was talking to. He wanted to try trusting him, to give him a piece of his emotions and see how the man would treat it was a risk and a test at the same time.

The blonde nod shortly, and his answer was only two words.

“The beach.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than the rest, I apologize for that.
> 
> I needed to separate what's coming next from this 'domestic hiatus', cause it would be too extensive and also they have different energy.  
> I felt like it was necessary to create the proper atmosphere to progress from there, and I promise there are some interesting things coming up!!
> 
> Chapter title was inspired by Be Kind by Halsey and Marshmello.
> 
> Also, I wanna say something.
> 
> It was hard to concentrate on writing with all the things going on around the world. It's crazy how much stuff need to be fixed and changed everywhere.
> 
> Racism, homophobia, fascism, they’re all unacceptable and unjustifiable under all circumstances.
> 
> Black lives matter.
> 
> ♡♡♡♡


	6. new author's note

  
  


Hello once again!

I'm sorry for not being able to keep my word, that's the first thing I want to say.

Well, I've been having some health issues since summer, and it got worse last month. Doctors are still trying to find out what's going on with my body.  
I’m tired and a bit weak, but as soon as I feel better, I wanna start to write again.  
It helps me to keep my mind distracted from this situation, and it relaxes me.  
  
  
I hope I can update this story soon, cause I really have no intentions of dropping it.  
  
Hope y’all are doing good, and stay safe please.  
  
  
  
Lots of love. ♡♡♡  
  
  


  
  



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